


i will bury all my best friends

by svladcjelli



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: 2nd Devon's Writing Prompts, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brief description of a corpse, theyre not perfect but theyre getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svladcjelli/pseuds/svladcjelli
Summary: The war might be over but it's the battles in his head that still rage on.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: 2nd devons writing challenges





	i will bury all my best friends

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically the same thing as my first fic i lit rally dont have self control anymore,,, anyway, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! title is from cunk by jack stauber!!

He's in the trenches - they both are. The smell of damp soil that glosses over rotting corpses burns his nostrils, but he's gotten used to it. He can feel the familiar weight of the metal helmet atop his head that made his scalp itch and the dampness of slick mud seeping into his shoes. 

It's uncomfortable, but it's normal. (It shouldn't be, but there's nothing they can do about it.) 

_Schofield looks up, he's briefly lost sight of Blake round the next bend. He moves to catch up. He hears voices._

Nothing could prepare him to see Stokes grab Blake like that, to see Blake's eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill. Something in Scho's head screamed that he's been through this all before, that this was just a rerun of what once was. But everything felt so real and he's quick to react, standing between Stokes and Blake. 

He hopes to God it's the last time he has to see tears in Blake's eyes. 

But God works in funny ways and of course it's not. Scho curses his own naivety, he should've known better but the last thing he expected was the scene lying before him. Blake's body in his lap slowly oozing blood from his abdomen and though it's a steady flow, it won't stop. In the back of his mind resides all the aid training he's been given, but all he can manage is applying pressure to the wound. (Something tells him it doesn't help - it won't help in the end.) 

He gives up with that, learning it's hurting more than helping. He's aware of whats happening but lost all the while- like he's on autopilot. Paternal instincts finally kick into gear once the realization set in, once he saw the shine of tears in those quickly dulling eyes. Those tears he never wanted to see again.

He wonders if Blake knows what's happening too. 

Their exchanged words are muted and cloudy in Scho's head and he wonders why. He held a photo of Blake's family for him before Blake pulled it close to his chest and- Christ, he wasn't supposed to be that grey. His hands were red with blood and he felt it stick between his fingers and he couldn't tell if the smell of fire and smoke from the barn was stronger than the overpowering coppery stench of Blake's spilled blood. 

Some part of him doesn't want to know.

He makes Blake as comfortable as he can before he stops breathing. Everything's a bit colder without him and Scho felt an indescribable pressure on his shoulders. It felt muddled and cloudy and all too real at the same time. He wants to leave, he needs to get out please, there's a ringing in his ears from firing his rifle or the dead silence of losing Blake, he really couldn't tell because he felt sick and numb all the same and please, he just wanted to leave-

And it went dark. Or maybe it was always dark and he just couldn't remember - there was a blur between the lines of his subconscious and reality that was hard to see past. 

But there wasn't silence anymore. There was a garbled snoring coming from the right side of him, a familiar sound. 

It wasn't one of those negative familiarities, though, not like the smell of mud or sound of shelling. It was one that felt like home.

He couldn't see anything in the dark, but he knew who the warm body was beside him. The haze of waking up began to fade and Will's hand found its way to Tom's. The air above was crisp and cold but beneath the blankets the shared a warmth. 

"You're okay." Tom spoke through the silence and Will felt a different kind of warmth wash over him. Home, he thought.

It was odd to hear Tom's voice because for once, it was just one. It was no longer _voices_ and instead just _voice,_ and that voice was Tom's. It was because they weren't in the trenches anymore, there was a significant absence of tired feet and heavy helmets. It was them and only them, able to coexist in peace. 

Will's hand found its way to Tom's, entwining their fingers together. It was okay.

He wouldn't lose sight of Tom again. 

**Author's Note:**

> i know this isnt original at all but this is my favourite type of wwriting so,,,, badabing badaboom i guess. thank you so much if youve read this far :')


End file.
